


The Works of Our Hands

by 2Nienna2, starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Characters listed in order of "screen time", Family, Gen, Reference to Canonical Character Death, craftsmanship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Nienna2/pseuds/2Nienna2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Scenes from the lives of Fëanor, Curufin, and Celebrimbor, with a focus on their creations.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 19
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I, the author, consent for this to be read during the SWG’s Live Reading session.
> 
> The fic is by 2Nienna2. The beautiful art, which is embedded throughout, is by starlightwalking | arofili | annataryx.
> 
> Many thanks to [Grundy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy) for beta-reading! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Note on names:  
> Fëanáro = Fëanor  
> Telperinquar, Tyelpe = Celebrimbor  
> Curufinwë = Curufin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fëanáro makes his first jewels on the night Telperinquar is born.

Fëanáro bent over a vat, stirring intently. It had been raining all day, a soft, gentle rain that patter-pattered against the forge’s metal roof. Fëanáro was grateful for the sound.

It had taken him many months to realize that he needed to use these materials, and even longer to figure out what processes he needed. And now he was finally getting close. He could feel the familiar warmth of a project nearing completion, deep in his stomach, and, more concretely, could see the light in the vat taking shape.

He had sat underneath Laurelin and Telperion during their peak time for many days, which had caused his sleep schedule to be horribly out of touch with that of the rest of his family. He slept until middle of the night, when he awoke and carted a vat underneath Telperion to capture the little bits of his light that dripped. Then he slept until midday, when he went out with the same rig to collect from Laurelin. 

He _could_ have done this at more convenient times, but it would require more hours that he didn’t want to waste. This had caused more than a few fights with Nerdanel as well as a general feeling of quietude about to tip over into aggravation, whenever he was with her. She was always passive-aggressively pointing out how their lives would be so much better if everyone could get on a similar schedule.

But it would be worth it, Fëanáro thought. He had tried to explain to her that this was the only way he knew to get these precious materials and create what he had in mind, what consumed his thoughts, and that he couldn’t imagine not completing it. He did feel bad for disappointing her, but for the time being everything else had to be sublimated. Besides, it was either disappoint her or disappoint his father and himself, so really, there was no perfect solution. And now he was so close! 

As he was thinking this, the liquid started to bubble over (not over the top of the vat, of course — he had been careful to make it tall enough,) and as it steamed it left a powdery substance below, not unlike the one left by steel when it corroded.

Fëanáro stepped off his stool to put on thick gloves. He used a ladle to get most of it, and then a scraper to get the stubborn pieces, and dumped it on his worktable, which he had thoroughly emptied and cleaned earlier. “See,” he wanted to say to Nerdanel and Maitimo. “I can be organized when I want to be.” He imagined they would respond by saying, “That only makes it worse.” 

He boiled some water. He poured it on top of the dust and watched it bubble but then start to shine. The dust absorbed most of the water and became… not dust. It expanded into something puffy and sticky. He began to mold it. Hands still in the blue gloves, he closed his eyes and started shaping it. He found it was usually easier to get things “just right” when he didn’t look and didn’t think too much; just let his hands take over. When he opened his eyes he saw that he had made raindrops or teardrops. He preferred to think of it as the former. 

Although... he had never actually seen a raindrop — or a tear for that matter — magnified in such a way that he could see its shape, so he had no idea if the image he had made was in the true form of rain or not. But that was irrelevant. If it might be seen as something then that was part of what it was. Truth had nothing to do with it. Which meant that people might also see it as teardrops. He did not want to be associated with sadness. Maybe that needed to change in the next attempt. 

He left them to harden on the table. They were shining so brightly he could have blown out all the flames and still have enough light to read Fingolfin’s tiny handwriting. He opened his storage closet and brought out a precious box. Aulë had given it to him as a gift when he had reached an important milestone in his training, and he had saved it ever since. It contained melted white beryl, which Aulë must have made in his forges deep in the center of Arda. But the most remarkable thing about it was that it could retain heat nearly indefinitely. Aulë had said the container was some sort of extraordinary material which was in very short supply, but he didn’t explain what it was made of or how it was made. Fëanáro wished he understood how it worked, but he was still very grateful that it did. 

Fëanáro put on his face shield. In all honesty, he should have been wearing one earlier (Nerdanel would be upset if she knew) but he hadn’t thought it was _too_ dangerous, and he had really wanted the chance to see the birth of his creation with his own eyes. But now safety gear was a necessity considering he was about to release air hot enough to melt crystal, from deep within the earth. He opened the container and looked at the smooth liquid.

He held one of the shining cores with tongs and dipped it into the white beryl, covering it thoroughly. He put them on the table and used a torch to reheat them, melting away any imperfections. He waited a few minutes until they seemed solid and dipped them again. He did this many, many, many times, until each was covered with a thick clear beryl layer. He took off his protection and looked at the gems. He wanted to make absolutely sure there weren’t any blemishes, or anything else that would need to be redone or altered. 

When he was finished examining them, he went outside, cradling the gems in his arms. The air was gratifyingly cool and humid, and the grass under his feet was still wet. It was very pleasant to be outside, especially after such a long day in the forge. 

To his great surprise, he saw that the color was changing _._ His once clear stones were looking blue-tinted, and they grew more so the longer he was outside. _Maybe it’s some sort of reaction to the starlight,_ thought Fëanáro. _Fascinating._ The color was not what he had planned, but Fëanáro quite liked it. It was somehow calming and intense at the same time. 

He _really_ loved this design. He was not sure why it excited him so much, but it felt just right. He thought the gems were incredibly beautiful. He was sure he would find things to dislike about them, probably quite a lot of things (after all, this was only a first attempt) but for now he stood in his yard and basked in their light, satisfied giddy smile forming.

\--------------------

When Fëanáro first entered the house, he didn’t know what was going on. Someone — probably Maitimo — had hung up red and purple streamers. The Great Room, usually guaranteed to have _at_ _least_ one person in it, was empty. Fëanáro checked the kitchen. No one. (He did get a piece of cheese for a snack, though.) He checked his study. Just one of Tyelkormo’s birds. He went to the bathroom, and then checked his bedroom and found the entire family crowding around the bed.

“What is everyone doing here?” asked Fëanáro, surprised. 

“Can’t you see?” responded Carnistir.

And then he saw. On the bed, with Curufinwë and his wife Þornë, was a child! 

“When… when was the child born?” asked Fëanáro.

“Your grandson Telperinquar was born tonight,” Þornë responded. Fëanáro looked at him more closely. Tyelpe — for he was sure that was what the child would be called — was looking at his mother with big eyes. His skin was still somewhat pink-tinted and splotchy.

“May I come in?” asked Fëanáro.

“Of course.”

Fëanáro hopped onto the bed and slid closer. He sat cross-legged. Þornë put Tyelpe in his lap. She held up his head until Fëanáro could put his hand where hers was. _Wow_. He was holding his grandson. A new child. Tyelpe’s skin was smooth and so, so soft, like water. He wondered if Tyelpe would be like Curufinwë, and thus like himself, or if he’d be totally different. He felt a wave of strangeness. 

What an absurd thing, that new beings could be created and take pieces of himself into them. But, he supposed, it wasn’t that different from how he created things in the forge, just much less under his control. Not so different from blending materials, except he didn’t get to choose the amounts, and sometimes entirely unexpected ‘materials’ would come in. So maybe it was a bit different. But no matter. It was Tyelpe’s first night in this family, and Fëanáro would make sure it was a good one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curufinwë goes on a walk with a toddler aged Tyelpe, and shows him a kaleidoscope he made.

Curufinwë called after his son, who was currently running around the house naked. “Tyelpe! If you put on some clothing I’ll take you on a walk. And I have a surprise for you.” 

“Really? What is it?” asked Tyelpe in his absurdly animated voice. 

“You’ll find out. Get dressed.”

“Get sweshed,” said Tyelpe as he went to his closet and grabbed some clothing. Then he looked back at Curufinwë with a smirk. “Was I funny?”

“Yes, yes,” said Curufinwë, who couldn’t help but smile.

As they walked, Tyelpe kept excitedly pointing out different types of leaves, or running so far ahead that Curufinwë had to make him run in circles. They stopped in a moderately shaded grove, surrounded by thin trees which did not block all the light but still gave it a comforting feeling. 

“I made you something,” said Curufinwë. “I call it a kaleidoscope.”

“Kaleidoscope. That is a _funny_ word! What does it do?”

Tyelpe had always been very intelligent (as could only be expected in this family) despite the silliness. Curufinwë himself had always been overly serious and shy, even as a small child, so it had come as a surprise that his son was so talkative, silly, and excitable. But he had gotten used to it, and actually enjoyed behaving in such a way sometimes. Realizing that he should be sharing his creation, Curufinwë bent to his knees so Tyelpe could better see.

“What’s it made out of?” asked Tyelpe. 

“The body is made out of hickory wood that Uncle Turcafinwë chopped in Oromë’s wood. It is very strong. Inside there are mirrors and brightly painted gems, and pieces of glass on the front, so that when you turn it, it makes patterns.”

“Ooh, can I make my own one?” asked Tyelpe. 

“Not until you’re older,” said Curufinwë. “But this one is a gift that you can play with whenever you’re with me or another adult.”

“Why?” 

“Because of the glass parts! It’s breakable! Now, are you ready to try it?”

“Yyyyyyyes,” said Tyelpe in a high pitched voice.

Curufinwë held the kaleidoscope up to Tyelpe’s eye, and guided his hands so that he could hold onto it. 

“Whoah,” gasped Tyelpe. “All I see is colors!”

“Close your other eye,” said Curufinwë. 

“How?” said Tyelpe.

“Just squint.”

Tyelpe tried. “But that… that closes both eyes! I tried to do it but the other eye was just like,” he started to giggle, “Nope, I’m gonna close!”

Curufinwë said, “Let’s try the other way.” 

He put his arms over Tyelpe’s shoulders and, careful not to poke him, moved the kaleidoscope to the other eye.

“Now squint.” 

Tyelpe did. 

“Why is it so much easier on this side?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, maybe it’s your dominant side. What are you seeing?”

“Green triangles. I thought it might change the way this grove looks, but it doesn’t. It’s totally different from that because I can’t see the grove at all.” Tyelpe looked through the kaleidoscope for quite a while, pointing out the different shapes and colors to Curufinwë. Finally he said, “Can you have a turn?’

“Of course,” said Curufinwë. “I was just about to ask.” 

Curufinwë put his glasses on top of his head and held up the kaleidoscope, turning it slowly. The colors looked absolutely beautiful in this light. Reds and blues interchanging and mixing with purples and pinks. With a quick twist his entire vision could be changed. 

It really was a great toy. He was proud of it. If only he could find a way to make it less breakable, it could be distributed more widely. He wondered if it would work with thicker glass. But maybe most kids were not inclined to throw their toys on the ground. If that was the case the current design would probably work just fine. At any rate, it was fun for him too. Curufinwë was looking forward to sharing it with his mother, who he was sure would have many things to say.

Curufinwë put the kaleidoscope down and saw that Tyelpe was now a good fifty feet away from him, lying in the grass with his head down, presumably examining the grass. He had seen him do that before. Tyelpe had said that if he got down low enough the grass looked so tall, like a whole forest, and he could imagine he was a bug. Curufinwë watched as Tyelpe got up, wiped the dirt off his face and began to smell a purple flower. He remembered he should be reproaching him for running off.

“Tyelpe!” called Curufinwë. “You know you’re supposed to stay with me.” _Oh, whatever. Today he would let it slide._ Curufinwë walked over and laid in the grass, smelling the flowers with him.

After a while, they got up and continued walking. At first Tyelpe was running and jumping and chattering on and on about the kaleidoscope, but eventually Curufinwë could see Tyelpe getting very tired. Tyelpe was vehemently against admitting when this was the case, so Curufinwë did not comment. Instead he picked him up and started narrating what he saw — he found that incessant vocalising about uninteresting things was one of the most effective methods for getting Tyelpe to sleep. Curufinwë walked around like this for a while. Tyelpe was getting heavy, so he kept needing to sit down. At last, Tyelpe fell asleep and they headed towards home, where Curufinwë tucked him into bed.

He was glad the kaleidoscope had been such a success. Tyelpe’s joy was worth everything to him. And it made him happy too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor comes across his father's kaleidoscope in Nargothrond, shortly after his father's banishment and their sundering.

Celebrimbor sat down to dinner at Orodreth’s table. He and everyone else was eating outside of the caves in a field strung with bright lights, although Orodreth had a glitzy dining room of a size that was more than sufficient. Orodreth claimed that since it was a warm evening, the fresher air would do them all good. Celebrimbor was inclined to disagree with this statement, preferring to hole up in the castle for the time being and not have to worry about being seen by other people.

At least it was a gentle night, with a slight breeze and moist air and the sounds of the river, warm but never hot enough to make him sweat. Celebrimbor could use more gentle nights. 

He buried himself in his food, making hardly a sound while the others droned on. He hoped Orodreth wouldn’t give one of those bright-eyed, pitying speeches which he was so inclined to give, about how “heroic” Celebrimbor was, and how thoroughly divorced he was from the Fëanorions. As far as Celebrimbor, those didn’t do much to change public opinion, although perhaps there were some who were swayed. There was still a large section of the population that did not think his rebuttal was genuine, and who were protesting that he should be thrown out. 

Orodreth himself had been nothing but kind, and Celebrimbor was grateful for having been taken in. But he didn’t know… something felt off about him. And all the time, he felt profoundly uncomfortable in this place. 

The discomfort had been growing for a while, as the first stirring of disagreement with his family came out, and he no longer felt as if it was them against the world, but maybe himself, alone. And now that they were gone the feeling shifted. He supposed some of it was homesickness, which had perhaps been staved off by the presence of loved ones whom he was comfortable with. He felt disconnected from life around him. Sometimes he would feel lightweight and free, and proud of himself for what he had done, like the whole world was his. Other times he felt like a disappointment, lonely and sad and discolored. He had the pervasive sensation of “how did I get here,” like the world was all wrong. 

Logically, he knew he had made the right decision. It had come to a point where he simply could not condone their actions any more. But it still felt terrible.

\--------------------

Out of a bag which had been carried painstakingly across the Ice and left in the palace, Celebrimbor lifted jewelry and household items and toys. Most non-essential items had been tossed out, or never brought along to begin with, so it was truly by extraordinary chance that this one had survived. 

Orodreth had brought it to him after dinner with a sickly-sweet smile, saying, “I thought you might enjoy this.” Celebrimbor was never quite sure if Orodreth was being genuine or not, but he was grateful for the chance to see items that his extended family had once loved, had once thought important enough to save.

He rubbed his finger along the leather outside, frayed and thin and discolored. It looked as though the seam would break and it would spill its contents at any moment, but somehow, it remained in use. It was inside of a second box, presumably to protect from just that possibility. He reached inside and pulled out an elaborate golden necklace with multiple layers, as well as three beaded bracelets, one of which he had made. He pulled out one of Maitimo’s books, and a baby blanket he believed had belonged to Idril. 

He wondered who had brought this here, and if it had been an act of defiance. How strange to see the mixing of Fëanorian and Finarfinian and Fingolfinian things, as if they were all one family. Even stranger that none of these items had been remembered by their owners. Although perhaps it was not entirely unreasonable, seeing how hectic their first days in Beleriand had been, and he could only imagine how disorienting the Ice must have been, how it must have pulled all other thoughts from their minds. He didn’t want to think about that just now. 

He pulled out a jar of spices, which his family used to smell at the start of important days. He hesitated for a second but then brought it to his nose. He felt confidence and excitement rushing through him at the scent of cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, and rosebuds, which had carried so many of the important days of his early life. His father had always said that rituals were important — not because there was anything inherently true or physically effective about them — but because of the effect they could have on an elf’s mind when followed. 

“After all,” he had said, “Isn’t something which affects the fëa equally if not more important than something that affects the body or the lives of others? Our fëa is our self, and our navigation through the world. If you can curate your mental experience, you will be well prepared for… just about anything. Repetition plus a stimulus creates an association and a meaning, which can be used to our advantage.” 

A lot of his father’s rituals had fallen by the wayside in Beleriand, especially the ones involving items which were only found in Aman, but also because there was simply too much to do, at least at first. Celebrimbor hadn’t quite grasped how busy he would be in Beleriand, back when the journey was being planned. But he still followed some, and he imagined his father did too. For all the good that had done.

It had been sixteen days since his father and uncle were banished, and he still couldn’t quite believe his bravery. He had never defied them like that before. He had always looked up to his father, always learned from him and played with him and loved him. But his father had gotten so… crazy, here in Nargothrond. When Celebrimbor found out Curufin was plotting against Finrod, who had always been his favorite relative, that was too far. Finrod, who was gone, who he might never see again. 

His father had talked to him about why, and Celebrimbor sort of understood — he agreed that Finrod’s rule had been unwieldy as of late. But he disagreed with their methods. They were too harsh, too quick-moving, and Celebrimbor had to admit, too self-interested. They had great plans for what they would do with the power, plans which included the retrieval of the silmarils. And Celebrimbor could not take part in that. 

Already far too much blood had been shed, far too many relationships ruined, in dogged pursuit of those gems. He did understand that the oath which weighed on them did not weigh on him in the same way. But he thought this was in part a choice. He had never been one to just accept the things that life handed him. Or to blindly follow the patterns of his forbearers. (And yet, he realized that in many ways he was more similar to his father and grandfather than not. It was a fine line to make sure he fully appreciated what his family had given him while also not becoming stuck in them.) He figured that if the oath could be held off for a time without any sort of divine punishment, there had to be a way around it.

And then he pulled a kaleidoscope out of the bag, glass shattered completely. _I was lucky not to get shards in my hands!_ he thought. If he had grabbed it just slightly lower he would have gotten lots of them. But then he looked at it again. He felt more downcast than he had before. They had played with it so many times when he was young. And when he was old enough, his father had taught him to make one himself (one which, as far as he could tell, had not made it to Beleriand.) It was one of the first things he had crafted. Celebrimbor started to cry, which to him was sudden and unexpected, although he supposed it wasn’t that strange considering all the now-soured memories he was revisiting.

He remembered… walking in the forest with his father, trying to look at him through the glass and seeing nothing but swirling, calming colors. Sitting on the floor in the Great Room while his father was trying to work, but continually distracting him by saying, “Come see! Come see” to show him a particular pattern. And then many times the pattern would change before his father got there, and he would cry that he couldn’t believe it was gone and exclaim “Make it come back!” How simple life had been then. Happy and light and surrounded by family. 

Sure, there was the semi-feud with the Nolofinweans, the petty drama that had eventually led them to be banished to Formenos. But that hadn’t occurred until he was much older, and as a child any discord among his family had been beyond the scope of his awareness. His older cousins had always behaved amicably — in fact, Finrod even became a friend — and his father didn’t hold half as much of a grudge as his grandfather did.

But that was all over now, irrevocably so. And although it was in part his choice, that did nothing to lessen the pain of losing three of his closest family members — even worse for it being more or less all at once. In fact, that he had had to choose between what was right and those he loved only made it harder. He was alone now (although dear Orodreth sure did try.) He was Fëanorion no longer. It was a strange, empty, floaty feeling.

He left the spices and kaleidoscope, and all the other once precious items where they were, not willing to risk a handful of glass shards. He would come back to it later with layers of protection and a broom. This old resilient bag would probably have to be thrown away, or else subject to the harshness of a thorough washing which was likely to destroy it anyway.

He looked at the kaleidoscope again. _Now isn’t that fitting the way it’s broken,_ he thought. Once it had been broken in a controlled way, in a way that was necessary for it to create beauty, although at first he did not understand why it was that this made it more delicate. Now it was shattered, broken beyond use, beyond repair. Or, at the very least, behind repair involving the pieces it had been made of before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor creates his first ring of power, a lesser one.

Celebrimbor held the ring he had just created. He could feel its power slinking down his arm, like a minute shock of electricity. He was _so_ excited. 

The room was loud. Annatar and the rest of the Gwaith i Mirdain were all working, which filled the room with a variety of hums and cracks and bubbles. Some were even singing softly. But in that moment, Celebrimbor didn’t hear anything. He simply stared at the ring he had created. It was beautiful and smooth, set with a fine blue jewel. But most of all, Celebrimbor thought of all the good he could do with it.

At first he was afraid to return to craftsmanship, so many years ago in Nargothrond. It was a two way tug — to be as little like his father as possible and to not lose him entirely. Eventually, not wanting to lose all connection with his family won out, when it was coupled with the understanding that he could do so much good with his craft, and the fact that he loved it so much. He would honor his family by doing what they did best but doing it _better_ , by not getting too attached and creating with everyone’s best interests in mind. He didn’t want to be ‘not Fëanorion’ he wanted to be the Fëanorion that brightened their name.

So he was overjoyed when Annatar arrived. What better way to improve the moral compass of his work than with the council of one of the Maiar? And what better way to gain new skills, more substantial skills which were beyond his natural ability?

And now he had done it. He’d created an object with actual power in it. The first of many. It could be used to improve cities. It could maybe, possibly, keep them from collapsing. Could it stave off the doom of the Noldor? He didn’t know, but it would certainly do something. Probably not this particular one, though. This one had only been infused with only a little bit of power, a little bit of spirit. Annatar had explained that such power was precious and not to be wasted on first attempts. 

One of the things he had been most surprised by in his working with Annatar was that Annatar actually found things to learn from _him._ They worked in tandem, each teaching the other (or at least, Annatar was polite enough to pretend that working with Celebrimbor was helping him.) 

His friendship with Annatar was a true one, far beyond what he had hoped for when the Maia first arrived. They talked about their lives, and Annatar really understood him. They had the same sorts of high goals, the kind that others shut down as preposterous. The same drive to do whatever it took to reach them. (Within reason, of course. Celebrimbor made a conscious effort to keep himself in check.) And the same desire to create, both for the joy of it and as a means to an end to achieve their designs. To improve the world. To be quite honest, his friendship with Annatar made him giddy whenever he thought about it.

Even beyond Annatar, Celebrimbor was proud of the community he had built. For the longest time, he had thought he would never have community again. He had always been friendly, but everyone he had been friendly with as a child had either stayed in Aman or died. And in Beleriand most people avoided him, particularly among the Sindar. The muttering or occasionally shouting of “Fëanorion” as he walked by had been a little hard to bear. They had made him resent his family more than he already did, he thought.

But he had shed that name long ago, and the First Age was far enough in the past that no one resented him anymore. At least, no one that Celebrimbor interacted with, or no one who said it openly. It was amazing to be part of a family again. He really did see the Gwaith i Mirdain as his family, for they worked together nearly every day, and relaxed together in their free time. They advised each other in challenges, taught each other the things they had learned, and praised each other’s successes. It was an amazing feeling, getting to know others day in and day out, just by virtue of spending so much time together. But he was getting lost in thought, as he tended to do.

He walked over to Annatar and tapped him on the shoulder. Annatar took off his protective gear and walked with Celebrimbor to the middle of the room. 

“Look,” said Celebrimbor, face bright with pride, holding out the ring. 

When Annatar saw it and ran his finger across it, feeling the spark, a grin erupted onto his face. “You did it! We have so much more to learn!”


End file.
